Poverty Is a Construct of Greed

The Value We Refuse to See

In a world with enough knowledge, technology, and resources to eliminate poverty, why do so many of us still live without basic security? This is the story of one life—mine—lived at the edge of the system, and what it reveals about the value we’ve been taught not to recognize.

I haven’t always lived this way.

I used to run my own business. I traveled the world, lived in other countries, and experienced things most people only dream about. I was successful. Independent. Capable. But then I got sick.

And when I couldn’t work the way I used to, everything slowly unraveled. My economic life shrank to almost nothing. The money dried up. My options narrowed. I had worked my way out of childhood poverty only to find myself in that old familiar territory after raising my own family.

Now I live in a 30-year-old camper that I own outright. My total living expenses are under $800 a month, and much of that isn’t even paid in cash. I trade labor for housing and utilities. I rarely buy groceries for just myself. Most days, I put my energy toward helping my family—caring for my grandkids so their parents can work, rest, and feel secure in a chaotic world.

If I went out and got a job, it still wouldn’t be enough to afford independent housing or stability. But what I do now has real value. The work I do has quite a lot of hidden economic benefit for my family and, hopefully, long term benefits for my grandchildren.

I’m happy and fulfilled in many ways. But I also feel stagnant sometimes. I'm fraid of a future that might not need anything from me.

I Don’t Feel Poor—But I Am

By every technical measure, I live in poverty. I don’t feel lack in spirit, purpose, or wisdom. I’ve built a life where I use what I have carefully. I find meaning in what I give. Even then, sometimes it feels transactional, doing a bit extra so I can replace an old appliance, trading for cash to replace my old clothes. There is a humility and gratitude to these exchanges, and a lingering hunger for more of what I just don't have.

It's a quiet grief—not just for myself, but for how many of us have been erased by systems that pretend we don't exist. That see no value in what we do if it doesn’t generate profit as numbers in a spreadsheet.

Poverty Is Not Natural

We’ve been sold the lie that poverty is an inevitable part of the human condition. That some people just end up “on the bottom,” and others rise to the top. But that’s not how it has to be.

Humanity has had the knowledge, technology, and resources for decades to eliminate poverty. We’ve had the capability to ensure clean water, housing, food, healthcare, and education for every person on Earth.

But we didn’t use those tools to build a better world. We used them to build monopolies. To hoard wealth. To automate labor and then discard the laborers. To deepen the divide between the few who own and the many who produce.

Poverty isn’t accidental. It’s constructed. Deliberate. Profitable for some, absolute destruction for others.

A System That Ignores Real Value

When I was an analyst one of the frameworks I used was objectives-based value analysis. I had found most risk analysis models focused on money as the core metric, so I built my own systems to encompass other value metrics. In every case, there were correlations to actual financial impact—systemic, long term correlations. Often these impacts are outside the direct profit centers being measured meaning that the benefits, but most often, intrinsic costs are transferred to others.

The system is designed to minimize distribution of profit and maximize offloading costs and negative consequences as externalities.

So the economy doesn’t see what I do every day—helping to raise children, holding emotional space for a family under pressure, teaching resilience, and supporting growth. It doesn’t count that I’m helping my children build the next generation.

Because there’s no paycheck attached to it, I’m seen as economically inactive.

This is the trap of a greed-based system: it rewards accumulation and power, not contribution or care. It ignores the work that sustains life in favor of the work that fuels profit. It punishes people for not being “productive,” even when what they do matters.

We Were Supposed to Be Better Than This

Technology was supposed to make life easier. To reduce toil, to lift burdens, to give us all more time and freedom.

Instead, the benefits of progress have been funneled upward. The more we advanced, the less security many of us ended up with. We replaced people with machines and AI, but we didn’t replace their income or sense of belonging. We cut jobs, not working hours. We increased profits, not well-being.

The system chose profit over people.

And now we're watching the consequences play out—everywhere.

Still Here. Still Valuable.

I’m not broken. I’m not worthless.

I’m part of what’s holding this world together in quiet, unpaid, invisible ways.

And I’m not alone.

There are millions of us living lives that don’t look like success on paper. Elders. Caregivers. Disabled folks. Survivors. Artists. People who know how to stretch, adapt, and show up when it matters. People who still give, even when they have little to spare.

We don’t need saving—we need recognition. We need a world that sees value beyond profit.

Poverty is a construct. A choice made by the greedy. We have given them too much power.

It’s time we chose something different.

We can build a world where care counts. Where wisdom, resilience, and contribution aren’t measured in dollars. That change starts when we tell the truth about how we live—and insist it matters.

If this spoke to you, share it. Start the conversation. Name what’s real.

And if you have the means, consider supporting the work of independent creators like me. We’re not just telling stories—we’re holding the line.

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